


His Shroud of Finest Silk

by Fallynleaf



Category: Black Sails
Genre: F/F, Gender Issues, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-12-07 15:36:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18236861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fallynleaf/pseuds/Fallynleaf
Summary: Jack, accompanied by Anne and Max, visits the plantation in Savannah in order to reassure their investor concerning the matter of Flint's disappearance. But instead of encountering the prison he was expecting, Jack ends up finding much more than he'd bargained for.





	His Shroud of Finest Silk

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is about one part Jack Rackham character study, and three parts me attempting to reckon with my feelings over the ending of Black Sails.
> 
> The title is from the sea shanty “General Taylor.”

As the three of them approached the plantation, Jack felt nervous anticipation eating away at him like a carrion bird. "What if he's not there?" he asked.

"He'll be there," Max said, with confidence.

"All due respect, Max, but I've never seen Captain Flint willingly give up his freedom. No matter what awaits him there, he'd never remain in prison. He's incapable of it."

"Maybe he's dead," Anne said. "Place has guards, doesn't it?"

Jack glanced around them as they walked, the surrounding country curiously silent. "Doesn't look like it," he said.

He had a sudden vision of Flint slaughtering Oglethorpe and all of the guards and riding off on horseback as the plantation burned to the ground behind him.

"The way I see it, there are only two possibilities here," Jack said, holding up his fingers to count them off. "One: Flint is gone, and he left the place in rubble. Or..." he trailed off, unsure how to categorize the second possibility. "Either way, he's not dead," Jack said definitively.

They rounded a bend, and suddenly the plantation was there, a spot of civilization looming up out of the untamed land. Jack's eyes could make out the shape of human figures in the fields, laboring hard in the afternoon. None of them appeared to be guards.

Cautiously, Jack, Max, and Anne stepped past the gates. Anne didn't have a knife in hand, but she looked like she wished she did, her eyes darting over the men in the fields.

As they walked, one by one, all of the laborers glanced up from their work and stared at them.

Jack heard whispers on the wind. One of them sounded like his name: _Jack Rackham_. He whirled around to face whoever had said it, his heart beating uncertainly. This nameless prisoner couldn't know enough about him to be able to recognize him on sight. It wasn't possible. He must've imagined it.

They kept walking. The path took them to a large building. Just as Jack reached toward the doorknob, the door swung open.

A man stood there, carrying a bundle of clothes. He had long, glossy brown hair that was tied back with a ribbon, his face narrow and elegant, elfin. He was dressed very well, much nicer than any of the laborers out in the field. As soon as he glimpsed Jack and the others, his eyebrow went up, and he appraised Jack from head to toe, then met his gaze and grinned. "Jack Rackham, I presume," he said.

"Erm," Jack sputtered. The man's eyes were a soft golden brown. For some reason, Jack fixated on this, immediately losing his train of thought.

The man leaned around him. "And Anne Bonny and Max," he said.

"How the fuck did you know our names?" Anne said, pushing past Jack. And ah, there it was, a metal blade glinting in her hands.

"Anne—" Jack grabbed her arm. "While I also want to know the answer to that question, we have a more important matter to attend to first," he said. He turned back toward the man. "We're looking for Flint."

The man's eyes went wide. He gave a knowing nod. "I'll take you to James," he said. He set down the bundle of clothes, then started to walk deeper into the building.

"James?" Jack exchanged a glance with Max.

The man led them upstairs to an unassuming door. He lifted a hand and knocked three times, softly. Then he opened the door and stepped into the room, gesturing for the three of them to enter.

"James, I have Jack Rackham, Anne Bonny, and Max here to see you," the man said.

The room contained a desk and several bookshelves. As they entered, the man seated at the desk looked up, and Jack exclaimed with surprise, "Flint?"

Flint looked warmer, somehow. Softer. He'd grown out his hair, and there was a lightness to his eyes that hadn't been there before. He looked ten years younger than when Jack had last seen him, rugged and beaten down by his years at sea.

"My name is James McGraw," Flint said. "But you may call me what you wish. It makes no difference." He leaned back in his chair, clearly comfortable in what was obviously a position of authority in this place.

Jack turned to exchange a glance with Max. "I thought you said this was a prison!"

Anne was restless at Jack's side, jumpy.

"There is no need to worry," Flint—or rather James—said calmly. "As long as you bring us no harm, pirates are always welcome here."

"No, no harm!" Jack said quickly, waving his hand at Anne so that she'd put the knife away. "I'm just here to protect my investments," he said. "Some time ago, I made, erm, a deal, and my investor wanted reassurance that Captain Flint would not get in our way."

"He will not get in your way," a voice said from the door.

Jack whirled around and watched as another man entered the room. The man walked over to James and placed a hand on his shoulder, the touch gentle and lingering.

"Captain Flint is dead," James said. "I buried him in the fields of Savannah." He closed his eyes.

"Then, if it is no longer a prison, what is this place?" Max asked, stepping forward.

"Our home." The person who spoke up was the man who'd led them here. They all turned to look at him. "Max did not mislead you, Jack," he said. "This place _was_ a prison, once. Then James arrived, and he and Thomas had a different vision for it. And, together, we brought it to its knees." His voice was hushed. "What we have now is what we've built ourselves."

"If you killed Oglethorpe, they'll—they'll come after you, you know!" Jack said.

"James Oglethorpe is alive and well," James said. "Unlike Woodes Rogers, he was willing to listen to reason. When he ceded custody of this place, he did so gladly. We have done more for it as free men than he ever could as gaoler."

"So, you just... live here? And work the fields?" Jack asked.

"Yes," James said, simply.

"And Oglethorpe left you in charge of this operation?" Max asked.

"We decided it rather in the fashion of pirates," the man with long brown hair said. "By election. The votes were split evenly: half wanted James, and the other half wanted Thomas." He gestured toward the man who was still at James's side, who was, Jack gathered, Thomas. The brown-haired man grinned at them, his eyes sparkling.

"Does this assuage your fears, Jack?" James asked.

Jack exchanged glances with his partners. Anne was still clearly on edge, and Max looked unsure.

"You're welcome to stay here as long as you wish," James said. "Food and lodging will be provided to you."

"Why?" Jack managed.

"I am offering out of respect for what we've been through together," James said. "And because we can afford to give you all a moment of peace, and I would rather you leave here as our friends rather than our enemies."

"Then, if it is to be to our mutual benefit, we will stay the night," Max said, answering for all of them before Jack had time to decide on a response.

"Good," James said. "I am glad to hear it." His gaze moved to the man with long brown hair. "Henry, I trust you will ensure that our guests are properly accommodated?"

Henry grinned. "I should like nothing better to do," he said.

"What about the washing?" Thomas asked, amused.

Henry shrugged, the motion loose and languid. "The men can stand to wait one more day for clean garments."

Thomas just shook his head, smiling. "Don't delay too long," he said. "We're all counting on you to stay clothed and decent."

Henry moved toward the door. He turned to look back at Thomas. "There are plenty of activities the men can do to occupy themselves, should they find themselves in a state of indecency," he said. Then he winked, reached for the door handle, and gestured for Jack, Anne, and Max to follow him out of the room.

 

* * *

 

As Henry led them on a tour of the place, Jack had many questions, but couldn't decide which to start with. Finally, he asked, "So, how did you end up here?"

"My father had me sent here when it was still a prison," Henry said, matter-of-fact. "He thought it sounded more humane than watching me be put to death."

"What did you do to earn the gallows?" Anne asked bluntly.

Henry shot her a grin. "Men," he answered. “My crime was sodomy.”

Jack blushed, then, and tried to hide it. "Are—are all of the men here sodomites?" he asked, stumbling a little over his words.

"Almost all who chose to stay, yes," Henry said.

Jack surveyed their surroundings, and noticed, for the first time, the small crowd of men that seemed to have loosely gathered around them. None of them were standing close enough to overhear their conversation, but they were all clearly _very_ interested in what was going on. The men stared at all three of the newcomers: Anne and Max as well as Jack, but they seemed especially interested in Jack.

"Erm," Jack said, nervously.

Henry followed his gaze, then turned back toward him with an expression of amusement. "Oh, don't mind them," he said. "You're just the single most interesting thing that's happened here in months. It's not every day a handsome, unattached pirate shows up in our midst. We're all just very taken with you."

"I am not unattached," Jack said quickly. "I am indeed _very_ attached, actually."

"To who?" Anne said, snorting.

"To—to our enterprise," Jack said. "I am focusing on my partnership with Max and Anne at the moment. I have no need for, erm—" He accidentally caught the eye of one of the men, and received a wink, then immediately flushed bright red.

Max was staring around her in wonderment. "You mean," she started, "This place is filled with men who have no interest in women?"

"I cannot speak for everyone, but I do know that those of us who chose to stay remained because we could not see a future where we could find a wife and be happy," Henry said.

Max's face settled into an easy smile, and Jack could see the moment that her entire body relaxed. "I have never before been surrounded by men and felt no eyes on me besides the simple curiosity of strangers," she said. She reached out and took Anne's hand, curling their fingers together.

Anne, too, seemed almost dazed, the fight gone out of her.

"If all of what you've said is true, then this is a magical place," Max said, regarding Henry with almost a sense of reverence.

He just smiled at her, his eyes soft and warm and full of a deep kindness.

"Shall we, then?" he asked.

It took Jack a long moment to realize that he'd been staring at Henry, and that Henry was waiting for Jack to follow him into the building.

"Er, yes, of course," Jack said hastily. He glanced back at the crowd of men one last time, careful not to catch anyone's eye, then followed the others inside and closed the door behind him.

 

* * *

 

Henry showed them to the rooms where they'd be staying. There were two empty rooms, each on opposite sides of the building, and Max and Anne took one, and Jack got the other. It was, at that point, that Max and Anne decided to split off and spend some time on their own, leaving Jack alone with Henry.

Max and Anne may have relaxed their guard, but Jack was still on edge. He just couldn't let himself believe that everything was as Henry and James claimed it was.

As he and Henry began wandering aimlessly around the plantation, Jack could no longer keep his doubts unvoiced, and he finally said, "Whenever Flint is in charge, it _never_ ends well. You know that, right? The amount of times I've watched that man lie and betray until he gets what he wants—"

"Yes, I know," Henry said. "I know _all_ of it. Everything he did, everything he was."

"Really?" Jack asked. "Did he tell you about the time he killed his own quartermaster? And he _still_ somehow got elected captain again after that? By that same crew of people?"

"Yes," Henry said, simply. "He told us."

"And that doesn't bother you at all?" Jack asked. "You're not worried that the same _exact_ thing is going to happen here? Inevitably, something will happen that threatens his power, and then he'll do whatever it takes to keep it, up to and including killing any or all of you!"

"You've allied yourself with him before," Henry pointed out.

"Yes, I have!" Jack said. "And that's why I know him as well as I do! I've—I've _been_ there, I've _seen_ it with my own eyes. That man is good at only one thing, and that's bringing down every single person who shares his cause, as well as everyone who stands in his way. He's like—he's a howling maelstrom. The only thing he'll bring is ruin."

They stood just outside of a large building, larger even than the building that housed Flint's office. There was a warm breeze in the afternoon air, rustling through the fields.

"You know why it doesn't bother me?" Henry asked, turning to meet Jack's eyes. "Because before I met James, I was _nothing_. I was a nameless laborer out in the fields, confined to this place to live out a life's sentence simply because I dared to love another man. I was _surrounded_ by people like me, and we were as good as the dirt beneath our feet. _At least it's better than death_ , we told ourselves."

He took a breath. "Thomas always said _know no shame_ , but as long as there were guards standing over us, as long as we were here to pay penance for what we'd done, who we were, there was nothing _but_ shame."

Jack just stared at him, for once finding himself at a loss for words.

"And then Captain Flint showed up— _Captain Flint_ , the most feared pirate in the world—and the first thing he did, _the very first thing_ , was kiss Thomas. Right there in front of everyone—" Henry gestured toward the fields, "—And then, slowly, the whole story poured out of him. He told it for Thomas's sake, not ours, but we listened anyway. And he _gave_ that to us. He wouldn't give it to England, but he gave it to _us_."

Henry closed his eyes.

"So, you know why it doesn't bother me? Not a goddamn whit?" He said, eyelids snapping open. "Because every single thing that man did was out of love for Thomas. Every single thing. I may not agree with some of the decisions he made, but I understand why he made them, and I—do you know what it's like, finding out that Captain Flint is like us, like _me_? It was the most powerful feeling in the world," Henry whispered. "We could do whatever we wanted."

He held Jack's gaze, his golden brown eyes firm as steel. "So we did," he said.

"But—you're still here," Jack managed. "Still in your prison."

Henry laughed, without humor. "Do you see any guards? Is the front gate locked?" he asked. " Everyone who's here is here because he wants to be."

"Why? Why stay?" Jack asked. "After everything they did to you here?"

"Where else would I go?" Henry asked, bitterly. "Back to my father? Back to the land of a country that tried its best to have me killed? Why would I leave a place where I have carved out a life for myself, where I have the freedom to love as I want? It's a simple life, but a better one, I think, than living among the finest riches in the world, and feeling eyes on my back for every waking moment of it."

“I think, perhaps, you and I are fundamentally different people,” Jack said.

They'd started walking again. Henry moved to enter the building, and Jack followed gladly, eager to get out of the sun. He felt exposed in the outdoor air of the plantation.

“Ah, yes, Jack Rackham, famously motivated by two things: the promise of treasure, and his name in the history books,” Henry said, wryly.

“And Anne,” Jack pointed out. “Don’t forget Anne. I’d give up both for her.”

Henry glanced at him. “Yes. And Anne, your partner, but not your wife.”

“I don’t love her any less for it, you know,” Jack said, quietly.

“I wasn’t trying to say that you do.”

They started down a long hallway. Jack tried to remember what purpose this building served, but he couldn't call to mind any specific details that Henry had mentioned earlier. It appeared to be a place of work, not a place of residence.

“You know so much about me,” Jack stated. "Is it all from what Flint told you?"

“Yes," Henry said. "But isn’t that what you want? For people to know about you?”

“Well, yes,” Jack admitted. “But I feel like you have an unfair advantage, here. You know so much of me, and I know so little of you.”

"Do you want to know more of me?" Henry asked, one eyebrow quirked.

Jack blushed. "Well, I mean—" he sputtered.

Henry chuckled softly. He had a nice laugh. "My life isn't that exciting," he said. "I spend my days doing the washing, repairing clothes, and, occasionally, fashioning new garments for the people here."

"You're a tailor," Jack said.

"I'm what passes for one here," Henry corrected. "Part of the price of our privacy is that we can't regularly partake in what the rest of civilization has to offer. Occasionally, we have the opportunity to trade with others, but by and large, we must feed, shelter, and clothe ourselves. And everyone here does his part. That's the secret, that's how we keep it going."

Jack looked at him, taking in his outfit. He appraised the quality of the materials and the craftsmanship and wondered if Henry had made it himself.

"You have an eye for fine clothing. James never mentioned that," Henry said. His own gaze was roving over Jack, and Jack found himself fidgeting under the weight of it.

"Thank you," Jack said, honestly. "It's nice to finally meet another man who shares my sensibilities."

"Would you like to see my shop?" Henry asked.

"Shop?"

"Admittedly, it's not much of one," Henry said. "It's just what I call the place where I live and work."

"Alright. Why not? I suppose I have nothing better to do," Jack said.

Henry took him to a large room in an adjacent building that was located a little off to the side. The room was simply furnished, with a small bed and a dresser and a desk that also appeared to serve as a vanity. But the whole room was awash in color, draped with vivid fabrics and projects in progress, a chaotic swirl of clutter. There were other, coarser fabrics, too, and those seemed to make up the bulk of Henry's supply, but his heart was clearly in the brocades, and the silks, and the finer cloths.

Jack let out a gasp when he entered. Immediately, he was taken with the place. He reached out to brush his fingers against a smooth, silken blue.

"Good taste," Henry said.

Jack turned around, startled. He'd forgotten that he wasn't alone.

"I made a lovely dress out of that one," Henry murmured.

"A dress?" Jack asked, confused.

"That fabric feels just as good to wear as you'd think," Henry said.

"Wear?" Jack asked, his voice faint.

"Haven't you ever wondered?" Henry said, reaching out to adjust the fabric. "What it would feel like to wear one?"

The truth was that Jack _had_ wondered. It was difficult not to, living in a brothel. He'd seen women wearing just about every kind of outfit there was, and sometimes, occasionally, Jack had looked and had felt _envious_. Women's clothing was simply nicer than men's.

"If it counts for anything, I think you're very pretty, and you would look very good in a dress," Henry said.

Jack flushed scarlet. “Pretty?” he scoffed, tamping down his panic. “Earlier, you called me _handsome_.”

“And which do you prefer?” Henry asked.

Jack’s mouth felt very dry all of a sudden. “Er,” he said, eloquently.

He sat down on Henry's bed. There was an actual chair in the room, but seeing as it was covered in clothing, the bed was really the only place to sit.

"Where did all of these fabrics come from, anyway?" he asked, grasping for an easier topic, one that didn't get his heart pounding in his chest.

Henry leaned on the edge of the desk. "All of us have equal shares in the profits from the plantation," he started.

"Like a pirate ship," Jack mused.

Henry smiled. "Yes. Like a pirate ship," he said. "Most of what we produce goes right back into keeping this place in operation, and keeping all of us fed and housed, but anything beyond the overhead is ours to spend as we please. James and Thomas spend their shares on books, but all of mine goes toward purchasing fine cloths. It isn't a lot of money, but over time, it adds up."

"Some part of me still can't believe that he'd—that he could be happy, like this," Jack said. "That he would give it all up so that he could have it."

“Why is that so hard to believe?” Henry asked.

“You didn’t know him, well, _before_ ,” Jack said. “Captain Flint was a hard, ruthless man. And he was just as greedy as the rest of us.”

“I don’t think he ever actually wanted it. The Urca treasure, I mean,” Henry said. “He just wanted what it represented.”

“And what was that?” Jack asked.

“A future. Stability. A way out of it all.”

Jack laughed, hollowly. “I’m starting to think that I didn’t actually know him as well as I thought I did.”

Henry stood up. He turned away from Jack and started folding a length of fabric. "What are you going to tell your investors, when you return?" he said.

Jack thought about it, turning the question over and over in his mind.

"That Captain Flint is dead," he breathed. "He died alone in Savannah."

He watched as a grin spread, slowly, across Henry's face.

“This better not all be some elaborate ruse,” Jack said, warningly.

“What motive would I have to lie to you?” Henry asked. He set down the folded cloth, then picked up another item off of the chair and started folding it, too, gradually clearing off the space.

“Because you want me to—to like you,” Jack said, stumbling over his words.

"Well, yes," Henry admitted. "That is true." He flashed Jack a sparkling smile. "But I decided years ago that I was done lying. Either people will like me for who I am, or they'll hate me. But I won't pretend to be anything that I'm not." Finally deeming the chair clear enough to sit on, Henry sank down onto it.

They talked for a couple more hours.

Jack hadn't realized just how much time had gotten away from him until he heard the sound of a bell ringing distantly.

"Ah, that'll be supper," Henry said. He stood up. "Come on, we'll want to arrive before it gets cold."

 

* * *

 

Henry explained that all meals at the plantation were taken communally. _Much like a pirate ship,_ Jack filled in.

The dining room was packed rather tightly with tables and benches, but the atmosphere in the room was light and friendly, full of camaraderie that felt comfortable and familiar. Jack ran into Max and Anne while entering the room, and the three of them, along with Henry, made their way toward James's and Thomas's table, where four spots had been left empty.

Jack sat across the table from James. He couldn't help but stare curiously at James for a long moment, trying to reconcile his memory of Captain Flint with the man that sat in front of him now, leaning into Thomas and smiling easily. Try as hard as he could to look for one, he couldn't see a reason for Flint to lie to them.

"This place, what you have done here, is incredible," Max said, to James.

"Thank you," James said, inclining his head. "Coming from you, that is quite the compliment."

Jack almost thought to give James news of Nassau, telling him what he'd missed, what they'd done with it in his absence, but then he thought better of it, and held his tongue. Maybe it was better not to think of Nassau at all, while he was here. It wasn't so much that he worried it would present a temptation to James—although that worry _was_ there, lurking at the back of his mind—but Nassau just felt like a world away from this place, and Jack got the sense that that was deliberate.

He realized, then, that he didn't much want to think of Nassau himself right now.

He let Max do most of the talking, content to just sit and enjoy the food. He caught Henry's eye from across the table a few times, but Henry just looked at him without attempting to draw him into the conversation.

Then, as supper was winding down, James asked, "Jack, before you leave, would you do one last favor for me?"

Jack squinted. "Depends on what it is," he said.

"I would like to—to send a letter," James said. "To Madi."

"To Madi?" Jack repeated, confused.

"Do you know where she is now?" James asked.

"I think I could—I could find her, yes," Jack said, slowly. "Why?"

"Because we did not part on the best of terms, and I have regretted that for years," James said.

He closed his eyes, and for a moment, Jack could see Captain Flint sitting in front of him instead, looking rough and worn and aged by the sea.

Then he opened his eyes, and once again James was there in Flint's place.

"I'll tell you what the letter says, though I suspect you'll read it anyway," James said. "I just want her to know that whatever happens, as long as I draw breath, she and her people will always be welcome here. On the topic of slavery, Oglethorpe and I are in agreement."

"I'll deliver your letter," Jack said, quietly.

He didn't ask why James couldn't deliver it himself. Perhaps John Silver's betrayal had been a betrayal motivated by love and misguided kindness, but it was a betrayal nonetheless. Even though it had ultimately gotten James everything he'd wanted, the price for it had been very high indeed.

"Thank you," James, softly. "That means a lot to me."

Jack shrugged. "Well, you've agreed to feed all three of us and put us up for the night. The cost of delivering a single letter is marginal in comparison." It really wasn't—not _that_ letter, at least—but something about being at this place made him feel uncharacteristically courteous.

"You are welcome to stay here as long as you'd like," James said. "And if, in the future, there comes a time when you would like a reprieve from the sea..."

Jack ran his thumb over the surface of his glass. He thought about it, but didn't say no. He wasn't eager to leave, but he wasn't exactly eager to stay, either. There was a restlessness that plagued him, itching just under his skin. It had been with him all of his life, and he didn't think he'd ever be rid of it.

 

* * *

 

After supper, Jack, Anne, and Max walked to their rooms together. Then Jack lay down on his bed, the mattress smaller and rougher than he was used to, the sheets not as fine, and he stared up at the ceiling and tried to organize his thoughts.

There was a knock at his door.

He got up and opened it, expecting it to be Anne or Max wanting to discuss their plans for tomorrow, but instead it was Henry standing there.

“May I come in?” Henry asked. He held a bundle of folded cloth in his arms.

Jack opened the door wider, and stepped back to admit him.

“I brought the dress,” Henry said. “I thought you might want to see it.”

He unfolded it, then, and the train of fabric fell towards the ground in a cascade of soft blue.

Jack’s breath caught with a small gasp.

“Do you want to try it on?” Henry asked. “I think we’re close to the same size. It should fit you well enough.”

 _No, I don’t want to_ , Jack tried to say, but what he said instead was, “Okay.”

While Henry's eyes were still on him, he started to unbuckle his belt. Then he removed his trousers, stripping down to his smallclothes.

He put the petticoat on, and then Henry stepped forward to assist him with the stays. By the time Jack was ready for the gown, he was short of breath, and it was not due to the lacing of the stays.

Then Jack felt the whisper of blue silk against his skin, and his heart started pounding loud enough, he was sure that Henry could hear it.

For a long moment, Jack just closed his eyes and got used to the feeling of the dress on his body.

Henry gestured toward the mirror, but Jack shook his head. He didn’t want to know what he looked like. He’d rather just imagine it in his head. Pretend his features were softer than they were, that his body filled out the dress in a way that he knew it didn’t.

"You wear it better than I do," Henry said, smiling.

Jack sat down on the bed. He realized that he was trembling, but didn't know why.

Henry sat down next to him. He reached for Jack's hand, and Jack flinched away just for a moment before he turned his palm up and let Henry's fingers curl around his.

"It doesn't have to mean anything, if you don't want it to," Henry said, quietly.

"What if I want it to," Jack asked, his voice soft, "but I don't know what I want it to mean?"

There was a long minute of silence before Henry answered.

"I think there are things out there that are bigger than our words for them," he said. "The concept of _man_ is bigger than the mere word, as is the concept of _woman_. There are also concepts that go beyond _man_ and _woman_. And who's to say what _any_ of it means, really?" He laughed. "I just make clothes."

“I have known women to dress as men, but I have never known men to dress as women, except to demean themselves,” Jack said.

“Do you feel demeaned right now?” Henry asked.

“Yes,” Jack admitted.

“Then you are violating Thomas’s one and only rule here,” Henry said. He reached up and touched Jack’s face, then gently turned Jack to face him. “Know no shame,” he breathed.

Jack thought that Henry might kiss him, then, in that moment, but he didn’t. Jack wondered what would’ve happened if he had.

With a sigh, Jack pulled away and stood up. He reached for the fastenings of the dress.

Henry helped him remove it. His hands were deft and sure, handling both Jack and the fabric as if they were precious.

Afterward, Jack folded the petticoats, stays, and gown, and handed them back to Henry.

As Henry turned toward the door, Jack said, “Would it make the others jealous, if you kissed me?” He blushed.

Henry grinned. “We’d be the talk of the town."

He caught Jack’s eye, and his expression of amusement shifted into something else. He set down the dress on the bed, then stepped forward.

His hand came up to touch Jack’s face again, only this time it was different, and Jack could _feel_ that it was different.

Then Henry brought their lips together.

Jack had to lean up into the kiss. It was his first time kissing someone who was taller than he was. Henry's lips were soft against his, and Jack lost himself in them, his eyes fluttering closed.

The kiss was over before Jack was ready for it to be. Henry stoked Jack's cheek with his thumb, then pulled away from him and withdrew his hands. He turned and picked up the dress, then headed toward the door.

“Goodnight, Jack Rackham,” he said.

Then, just like that, he was gone, and Jack was left standing in the middle of his room, stunned. His lips tingled, and he reached up to touch them.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, Jack sat with Anne and Max for breakfast. He didn't see Henry, and wondered if he'd somehow missed him.

"I was thinking, maybe we should stay another night," Jack said.

"Why?" Anne asked. "Do you still think Flint's lying?"

"No," Jack said. "I just—" he looked to Max for support.

"I think I would appreciate another day of rest before I get back on the ship," Max said, slowly. She regarded him curiously.

He shrugged almost imperceptibly, and Anne squinted at him.

Jack stood up. "Alright, then, if that's settled, I'm, er—" he searched for an excuse, "—Going to the loo," he finished.

He made his escape from the room quickly, before either of them could attempt to interrogate him. In the hallway, he passed by two men who were walking in the opposite direction.

Jack stopped them. "Have either of you, by chance, seen Henry?" he asked.

"He's probably doing the washing," one of the men said. The other man was busy staring at Jack, open-mouthed, like he couldn't believe Jack Rackham was actually standing right there in front of him.

"Oh, right," Jack said, feeling like a fool. "And where, exactly, would he be doing that?"

The man gave him directions. Jack thanked him, then left the building.

He found Henry kneeling beside a basket of clothes, elbow deep in water, a swirl of fabric in his hands.

Henry looked up as Jack approached. A lock of brown hair escaped the ribbon at the back of Henry's neck, and Jack had a weird impulse to reach out and tuck it back. He didn't, though. Just held his traitorous hand stiffly at his side.

"So, as it turns out, we're staying another night," Jack said, quickly.

"Are you?" Henry asked, his eyes focused on his work.

"Yes. Erm, the girls and I decided that another day of rest would do us some good."

Henry wrung out a length of fabric, and before Jack could stop himself, he blurted out, "Would you like some help with that?"

Henry paused. He looked up at Jack with an expression of disbelief. "You, Jack Rackham, want to assist me with household chores?" he asked.

"Sometimes, I do get tired of hearing that name," Jack mumbled. He rolled up his sleeves, then got down on his knees beside Henry. "If I help, it'll go faster, yes?"

Henry grinned at him. "That is generally how it works."

Jack stared at him for a moment too long. His fingers twitched. "You have a—" he started. He reached up and tucked the lock of hair behind Henry's ear.

"Thank you," Henry said, his voice soft.

Jack looked away quickly, then rubbed his hands together, preparing to plunge them into the water.

For several hours, the two of them worked quietly. The work exhausted Jack quicker than it exhausted Henry, as Jack was unused to doing this type and quantity of domestic labor.

Finally, they hung the last sheet up on the clothesline to dry, and Jack breathed a long sigh of relief. He sat down on the grassy earth beneath a tree. Henry sat down next to him.

It was a nice day outside, all things considered, and Jack found that he enjoyed the light breeze and the dappled rays of sun on his skin.

"Do you do this every day?" Jack asked.

"Just about," Henry said. "Usually, it's not this agreeable."

"Agreeable?" Jack said, incredulous.

Henry laughed. "It's better with a partner," he said.

Jack thought he could agree with that. "Do you have anyone, here?" he asked. "A partner?"

They both watched the breeze play through the tall grass. Above them, the leaves rustled gently.

"No," Henry said, after a minute passed. "I don't have anyone."

"I'm sorry," Jack said.

Henry shrugged. "I do alright for myself," he said, tipping his head back against the tree.

 

* * *

 

Eventually, the bell rang for dinner. Anne accosted Jack as soon as he stepped inside of the dining hall.

"Where have you been?" she asked.

"Erm," Jack said. He glanced over at Henry, who was speaking to another man across the room. "It's not really important," Jack said, turning back toward Anne. "What have you and Max been doing?"

"Max talked to Flint for a long time," Anne said. "It was fucking boring."

As soon as they'd filled their plates and found seats at a table, Jack ate ravenously. Helping with the washing had taken more energy than he'd thought.

Once again, they sat with James and Thomas, though the conversation was quieter today, more subdued. James and Thomas mostly discussed domestic matters. And Anne was right: it was easy to tune out. Jack was glad that Max had more of a head for that sort of thing than he did.

Afterward, Jack turned toward Anne and Max and said, "The two of you should use this opportunity to take some time for yourselves. Don't worry about me."

Anne grinned, clearly appreciating Jack's suggestion that Max focus on Anne right now instead of business.

The two of them walked off together. Jack exhaled. Then he went to find Henry.

 

* * *

 

After the natural sounds of the outdoors and the din of the dining hall, sitting in Henry's room felt very quiet indeed. Intimate.

Henry, as it turned out, still had work left to do, though this time, Jack was unable to offer his assistance. But Jack did provide his company as Henry performed a few quick repairs on some of the men's clothing, then got caught up in a more complicated mend that took him the better part of an hour. Jack watched his hands work, entranced.

"Can I see some of your other work?" Jack asked, once Henry had finished the mending.

Henry grinned. "I have been waiting for this opportunity all of my life."

He went to the closet and started pulling items out of it, bringing them over for Jack to see. Some of the clothes were feminine, and some were more masculine, with others falling somewhere in between. He only owned one set of stays and petticoats, and two gowns, both of which were made of fine silks. Jack supposed that Henry probably did not have many opportunities to wear his finer things.

"If I paid you, would you make something for me?" Jack asked, his fingers lingering on the skirts of the other gown, which was a soft, natural cream color.

"No," Henry answered, simply.

"Oh," Jack said, disappointed.

"I can't work for hire," Henry said. "But if you supply me with fabric, I would love nothing better than to make clothes for you."

"Really? You mean it?"

"If it means I'll get to see you again," Henry said, flashing him a smile.

Jack's face felt warm, all of a sudden.

"What would you like me to make for you?" Henry asked. "A dress, or something more like this?" He held up a beautiful frock coat, masculine, but still rather flamboyant.

"Erm," Jack said.

"How about one of each?" Henry said.

Jack nodded, slowly.

"I'll start with fabric from my own supply. Then I'll exchange the finished items for more cloth," Henry said.

Jack started to nod, then frowned, a sudden thought occurring to him. "Would James allow that?" he asked. "Me bringing goods into this place that were acquired through piracy?"

"He doesn't have to know about it," Henry said.

Jack stared at him, aware that they'd started to walk a very thin line indeed. "Keeping secrets from Flint never ends well, you know," he said.

"James is different," Henry insisted.

Jack opened his mouth, but was interrupted by the distant sound of the bell ringing.

Henry glanced at him. "I'll take your measurements after supper," he said.

Jack did not pursue the argument any further. He'd just have to trust that Henry was right about James. That Flint really was well and truly buried.

 

* * *

 

Max and Anne arrived a little late to supper. Max's hair was somewhat disheveled, and both of them were giggling, which was, as always, a rather strange sound to come from Anne.

"Are you—are you drunk?" Jack asked Anne.

"No," she said, her face splitting into a smile. "Just really fucking happy. You were right, Jack." She reached out and softly punched him in the shoulder. He couldn't recall what, exactly, he'd been right about.

Max and Anne ate quickly, and didn't linger in the dining hall for long. If they said goodnight to Jack before departing, he didn't notice. He was too preoccupied, eager to get back to Henry's shop.

He and Henry left together. Jack wondered if the other men were watching them and drawing their own conclusions.

 

* * *

 

It felt different, standing in Henry's room in the dark, illuminated by candlelight. Jack once again stripped down to his smallclothes, removing the layers of fabric that would get in the way of Henry's ability to take accurate measurements.

Henry held up a measuring tape to Jack's body. His touch was light and precise, and Jack shivered whenever Henry's fingers made contact with his skin.

"I'll have to make more adjustments after I've sewn them, of course," Henry said. "You can try them on when you visit, and I'll tailor them before you leave."

"Are you sure I can't do anything else for you?" Jack asked.

"Getting to dress Jack Rackham is payment enough," Henry said, with a smirk. "Clothes that I made, with my own hands, will be part of your adventures out at sea. You'll have to tell me all about it, when you come back." He met Jack's eye. "That's what you can do for me. Pay me in stories."

His hand brushed against Jack's thigh, and Jack felt a coil of warmth crawl through him. He let out a breath.

Henry reached to take the last measurement. As he started to withdraw his hands, Jack realized he wasn't ready for it to be over.

"You can—you can keep touching me, if you want," he whispered.

Henry's hands stilled. "Is this your attempt at seducing me?" he asked, his eyes sparkling.

"I thought you were trying to seduce _me_!"

"I wasn't going to press, if you weren't interested," Henry said.

"I am. I am interested," Jack said, too quickly. His heart was beating wildly in his chest.

Henry stared up at him. He straightened. Very carefully, he set the measuring tape and the paper down on the desk behind him. Then he turned back toward Jack and kissed him.

Jack deepened the kiss immediately. He reached up and fumbled with the ribbon in Henry's hair, tugging it loose. Henry's hair tumbled down in a cascade of brown locks, and Jack threaded his fingers through it as they kissed.

Slowly, Henry backed him toward the bed. Jack sat down on it, pulling Henry down with him. He didn't know what to do with his hands, so he just kept them curled in Henry's hair.

Henry's hands went to Jack's chest, slipping beneath his shirt to touch the bare skin beneath.

Just as Jack was about to break the kiss so that he could strip off the shirt, there was a brief knock at the door, and it swung open.

"Jack, are you in here—"

Jack abruptly took his lips off of Henry's and whirled around.

Anne stood in the doorway, staring at them.

"Er, hello, Anne," Jack said, flushing. "Didn't expect to see you here."

Anne wore a small smirk that was rapidly blooming into a bigger one. "I wanted to talk about our plans for tomorrow before we went to bed, but on second thought, it can wait until morning," she said. "Have a good night, Jack."

"Y—you too," Jack managed.

With a dip of her hat, Anne stepped out of the room and closed the door behind her.

Jack groaned and rubbed at his face. "Sorry," he said. He turned back toward Henry. "I believe we were in the middle of something," Jack said, his gaze darting from Henry's disheveled hair to his brown eyes, dark with arousal, and then to his lips, teased red.

"Have you ever done this before?" Henry asked, reaching out to stroke his face.

Jack closed his eyes and leaned into the touch. "No," he said.

"Do you trust me?" Henry murmured.

"Yes," Jack breathed.

"Then take off your shirt," Henry said, his voice hushed.

Jack's eyes flew open. He stared at Henry as he removed his shirt, his hands shaking.

He watched as Henry leaned in to kiss him again. Then Henry's lips moved to Jack's neck, soft and gentle, but full of heat. He got up off of the bed.

"Does it bother you?" Henry whispered, his lips brushing Jack's shoulder, breath ghosting over his skin. "That I want you because of your name, because you're Jack Rackham, and I'm the man who had him." He kissed his way down Jack's chest, drawing a ragged breath of him. "Or does it excite you?" Henry asked, glancing up at him, his eyes coal-dark in the candlelight.

Jack made a sound that wasn't an answer, though perhaps, in so being, it was all the answer Henry needed.

Henry dropped down to his knees between Jack's legs. He leaned over and kissed the patch of skin right above the waistband of Jack's drawers, then reached up and palmed Jack's cock through the fabric. Jack exhaled sharply.

Then Henry reached into Jack's drawers and pulled out his cock. He met Jack's eyes as he wrapped his lips around the head, pumping the length of it with his hand.

Jack let out a moan. He felt dizzy with it, overwhelmed by sensation. His hands found Henry's head, fingers twisting in his hair, and he just stared down and watched, spellbound, as the length of his cock disappeared into Henry's mouth.

He didn't last long. He rode out the wave of pleasure with a gasping breath, losing himself in it.

After Henry swallowed Jack's seed, he tucked Jack's cock back into his drawers, then stood up. He sat down on the bed beside Jack, wearing a lazy, satisfied smile.

"Good, isn't it?" Henry asked.

Jack managed a nod. He reached aimlessly toward Henry, wanting something more, wanting to kiss him, or perhaps reciprocate. He shifted, scooting closer, and his hand went to the front of Henry's trousers. "I don't know what I'm doing," he said, prefacing his actions.

"You're doing just fine," Henry said. He sighed into it as Jack cupped a hand around him.

Jack stroked him like this for perhaps a minute before he had the courage to take it further. Then he undid the front of Henry's trousers, and after a brief hesitation, plunged his hand in.

At the same time, he leaned in and pressed his lips against Henry's, kissing him while he worked his cock. Henry's kisses got sloppier as the pace of Jack's hand increased, and by the end of it, Jack's mouth was on his neck and Henry was panting soft little breaths into his ear as he spilled on Jack's hand.

For a long moment, they stayed like that. Just leaning into each other and breathing the same air.

Then slowly, Jack pulled away and sat up. "I suppose I should probably get to bed," he said, dumbly.

"Probably."

Henry stared at him with a soft expression, and there was an invitation there, if Jack decided to take it. He could stay, if he wanted.

And Jack did want to. So great was the force of his longing, he knew that he needed to leave.

So, he put on his breeches and grabbed his coat, then leaned in one last time and kissed Henry, just the barest touch of lips. He headed towards the door, but stopped before he left the room. He looked back, just once. Then he held up his hand in farewell, turned, and walked out of the room.

 

* * *

 

That night, Jack's thoughts were so full, he could hardly sleep. He kept thinking of Henry's lips, and Henry's skin against his own. And when he finally managed to clear his mind of thoughts of Henry, he just thought of the damn dress.

At breakfast, he was visibly distracted, staring down at his plate of food without paying attention to anything around him.

When Anne sunk down onto the bench beside him, the sudden movement startled him. As soon as he saw her, though, he relaxed, giving her a weak smile.

"Did you fuck him?"Anne asked, bluntly.

Jack swallowed his next bite of food roughly. "Er, there were, erm, hands involved. And mouths." He blushed.

Anne's lips curled into a smirk. "That's all you need to fuck," she said, laughing. "I'm proud of you, though. You needed it. He's good for you."

"Is he?" Jack asked, then, contemplatively, "Did I?"

"You always wind yourself up so tight over the smallest things," Anne said. "It's good to see you finally let yourself relax, for once."

Jack made a noncommittal noise.

"We should stay another night," Anne added. "Just one more. I think you want to stay, but you're too afraid to say it."

"But, the men back on the ship—" Jack started.

"They can wait until tomorrow morning to set sail," Max said, calmly. She was looking at Jack with an expression he couldn't quite decipher. There was patience there, and wisdom, and a dash of affection.

He just sighed, and went back to his breakfast.

Then his eye caught movement as someone sat down at their table beside Max, and Jack looked up, and Henry was there.

He grinned at Jack, and Jack's whole face burned. Jack could feel both Anne and Max's eyes on him, their amusement palpable, and he flushed even redder.

"Er, h-hello, Henry," Jack said. He took a long sip from his glass.

"We'll leave you to it, then, Jack," Anne said. She clapped him on the shoulder, then stood up. She walked around the table and joined Max, and the two of them exited the dining hall.

Then it was just Henry and Jack sitting across from each other in a crowded room, and Jack didn't know what to say to him. He could already feel eyes on their backs, and he didn't feel _shame_ , exactly, but he felt like he was already making a fool of himself, and wished he didn't have witnesses.

"So, Anne wants to stay another night," Jack said, tapping his fingers on the surface of the table, not quite meeting Henry's eye. "But that's it. We really are leaving tomorrow."

"And how are you planning on passing the time?" Henry asked.

"Well, I—I don't know," Jack said.

"I think I might have a few ideas," Henry said. Jack could hear the smile in his voice, and he couldn't help but look, then, meeting Henry's eyes for a moment before he had to glance away again.

 

* * *

 

Henry ate a quick breakfast, and then the two of them exited the building, and took a walk outside.

"Are you ashamed of it?" Henry asked, once they were away from the prying eyes and ears of others.

"No," Jack said. "Or, rather, I'm trying not to be," he amended. "I watched Anne go through more than enough shame for the both of us. For me to feel it now, it—it trivializes that."

Henry reached out and touched the back of his hand, and Jack took Henry's fingers in his, holding his hand as they walked.

"But you're afraid of it," Henry said.

"I'm afraid of it because it was something I didn't know about myself," Jack admitted. "And now I can't exactly _un_ know it, can I?"

A large rectangle of fabric flapped in the breeze, catching Jack's attention, and he realized that Henry had taken him on a meandering route to the clothesline where, yesterday, they'd hung up the washing to dry.

Henry let go of Jack's hand. He reached up and started to take the sheet down from the clothesline.

Jack moved to help him. Then, together, they folded it.

They worked their way down the clothesline, taking down the now-dry items and carefully folding them.

Then Jack reached for the last sheet at the same time as Henry, and they stared at each other as the fabric hung between them, drifting in a breath of wind, and Jack's hand fell away from the fabric and grasped Henry instead.

Jack leaned forward and kissed him. Henry responded immediately, wrapping his arms around Jack as he kissed him back.

When the feel of the sun beating down on them got to be too much, they moved into the shade.

They ended up sprawled beneath the tree. Jack didn't even care if he'd gotten dirt on his clothes. There'd be time to wash them later.

At this juncture, they weren't even kissing. Just lying there together, watching the play of clouds passing overhead beyond the branches.

 

* * *

 

When they made their way back to the dining hall for dinner, Jack was in a very good mood. So good, in fact, that when he overheard a snippet of a conversation the next table over, he couldn't resist turning around and correcting the speaker. "I didn't _abandon_ Flint," he said, holding up a hand. "We left because we had our own plan to oust Woodes Rogers."

"Really?" another voice said.

Jack turned again, and James was standing there. He seemed to be both amused and genuinely curious. "I always wondered why you left, and why you came back when you did," he said.

"Well, the whole thing was Max's idea, so I'll let her explain," Jack said, looking at Max.

She seemed a bit flabbergasted at the turn in the conversation, taken aback as the attention of every single person in the room suddenly shifted onto her.

"I—I'd known Eleanor Guthrie, you see," Max said. "For a time, I knew her very well. And I knew that Eleanor had a grandmother, a woman by the name of Marion Guthrie..."

Together, they told the story up until the point where Jack met up with Flint again for the last time.

"So, you came back to kill me?" James asked.

"Yes?" Jack answered, hoping that the tone he heard in James's voice was simply amusement and nothing else.

But James merely nodded at his answer, and did not seem affected by it. "And Mrs. Guthrie is the reason for your visit now?" he asked.

Jack nodded.

"Do you think she will be satisfied when you give her your response?" James asked.

"Yes," Jack said. "It's hard to argue with _dead_ , isn't it? My mistake the first time was that I told her you'd _retired_. She didn't like _retired_. People come back from retirement."

It was the closest they'd come to talking of the new Nassau, the Nassau that James did not know, the Nassau that Jack had feared would sing to Flint like a siren's song and lead them all to ruin.

But James did not ask any further questions about Marion Guthrie. He seemed content with what Jack had given him, with merely filling in the scattered gaps in the story of Captain Flint.

"You watched Blackbeard die, didn't you?" a voice asked.

The man who'd spoken was not someone that Jack had interacted with before.

"Yes," Jack said. "And his strength, and his defiance, are the only things that spared me from suffering the same fate."

The men goaded him into telling the full story. But when he came to the part where Anne stepped up to face Mr. Milton, Jack's throat closed up, and he couldn't describe it.

Finally, Anne just sighed and told the tale herself. She told it bluntly and coldly, and the simplicity of her descriptions cut into Jack all the more for it. Afterward, she pulled him in for a hug and kissed his forehead, and that was nearly enough to chase the ghost of that memory away.

Jack launched into recounting a lighter adventure, after that. He told of how they'd captured the Urca gold right out from under Flint's nose, and even James smiled at the retelling.

In this way, the day passed, until the hours had slipped through Jack's fingers, and the sky had grown dark.

 

* * *

 

That night, Jack followed Henry to his room.

And then, in the candlelight, he stripped out of his jacket, then out of his breeches, and finally his shirt. When Henry stared at him, questioning, Jack started to undress him, too. Henry did not raise a hand to take over, letting Jack unfasten his breeches and start to lift his shirt before he stepped in and finished undressing himself.

"If we had only one night, what would you want do?" Jack asked.

Henry looked at him, working his fingers through a knot in his hair.

Jack's eyes were roving all over Henry's body, lingering on his bare chest, on the front of his drawers.

"Would you want to fuck me?" Jack asked. "Or would you rather I fuck you?"

"Doing either would make me a very happy man indeed," Henry murmured. "If we had only one night, I would take whatever you wanted to give."

"Er," Jack said, wishing it hadn't been left up to him. In his current very aroused state, he was finding it difficult to make decisions.

But one of the answers frightened him more than the other, and he felt inclined to choose that one. Tonight, he would stare down his shame in the face.

"Fuck me, then," Jack said.

"Is that a statement or a request?" Henry asked, grinning.

"Both," Jack said. He took a breath, then slipped out of his drawers, and then he was standing there fully naked.

He felt shy under the weight of Henry's gaze.

"Out of all the men I've ever had, you're the one I've desired the most," Henry said, stepping forward. He touched Jack's cheek, then his chest, then gently pushed him down onto the bed.

Jack nodded. "Because of my name," he said.

"Because of your name, yes, but also your lips, your eyes, your cock," Henry whispered, drawing a shudder of pleasure from Jack. "And because you've decided to be here with me, when you could have your choice of women, or your pick of many of the men here."

"I'm here with you because you somehow saw a side of me that no one else had ever seen," Jack said. "Including myself." He gazed up at Henry. "Also, you are _very_ attractive, and it bothered me at first, but now I am definitely not bothered by it."

With a chuckle, Henry leaned down and kissed him. Then he shed his drawers, and when he kissed Jack again, there was nothing between them. Just skin and heat.

For the first part of it, Jack closed his eyes, just sinking into the feeling of the coarse sheets beneath him and Henry's soft hands on his skin.

But then his curiosity got the better of him, and he opened them again.

He watched, breathless, as Henry entered him. Then Jack's eyes were fluttering closed again, and Henry's lips were on his, and the two of them were moving together as one body.

Afterward, they lay there quietly.

Jack felt very good, better than he had in months. He loosely curled into Henry's shape beside him. The bed being the size that it was, some amount of physical contact was inevitable. It had been a very long time since Jack had shared a bed with anyone. The last occasion had been with Anne and Max, and he really tried his best not to think of _that_.

Maybe Anne was right. Maybe he _had_ needed this. He'd needed a new memory to replace that other one.

"I can't just _stay_ , you know," Jack murmured, half to himself, half to Henry.

Henry hummed in acknowledgement.

"I wouldn't be happy here," Jack added.

"I know," Henry said. He stroked Jack's hair. "You must get back to your treasure, back to getting your name in the history books."

Jack felt the thrum of Henry's words through his skin as he spoke.

"But you'll come back," Henry said. "And I'll be here."

 

* * *

 

Jack woke to the distant sound of the bell. He shifted, and found himself face to face with Henry, who was already awake.

"Good morning," Henry said, grinning. His hair was mused from sleep, but he looked as good as he ever did. Or better, perhaps, since he was still naked, and Jack could actually get a good look at him now that there was light streaming in through the window.

"Morning," Jack said, aware that he was staring.

"If we don't get out of bed, we're going to miss breakfast," Henry warned.

"Fuck breakfast," Jack said.

They missed breakfast.

But, as much as he dreaded leaving, Jack knew that it was time to find Max and Anne and make their way back to the ship. So, he got dressed, then he kissed Henry. It was a long, passionate kiss. A goodbye kiss.

"So, I'll be seeing you, then?" Jack said.

"I sure hope so," Henry said.

Then, with one last nod, Jack left the room.

 

* * *

 

Max and Anne were waiting with James and Thomas near the entrance to the main building. Most of the other occupants of the plantation were gathered there, too. A few of them looked rather distraught to be saying farewell to their guests so soon. Jack also felt a little distraught, but hoped he was doing a better job at hiding it.

He didn't see Henry. Some part of him was relieved, but the larger part of him was hurt.

Pushing those thoughts aside, Jack turned toward James. "Thank you," he said. "For, well, everything. You were all wonderful hosts, even though I don't think we deserved it."

"I think perhaps we should be thanking _you_ ," Thomas said. He smiled. "The men will talk of this visit for a long time after your ship departs."

There was a satisfied warmth in Jack's heart, hearing that.

He looked to Anne and Max, then, and the three of them turned toward the path that led out of the plantation.

"Jack, wait," a voice said.

Jack turned around, knowing as he did that Henry had been the one to call after him.

Henry approached him. He held something in his hand, a scrap of fabric. Jack caught a glimpse of blue silk and his eyes widened.

"I have something for you," Henry said. "Just a trifle, really." He held up the fabric, and Jack could see, now, what it was. What Henry had made for him.

Henry reached up and grasped Jack's cravat. Deftly, he untied it, slipping it off of Jack's neck. Then he replaced it with the cravat he'd sewn out of that same blue silk he'd used for the dress. Jack let out a breath as the fabric touched his skin, his heart pounding as Henry's fingers worked to tie the new cravat.

Then, when he'd finished, Henry kept his hand on the cravat, and with it, he pulled Jack toward him and into a kiss.

And there, in front of Anne, Max, James, Thomas, and all of the men of the plantation, Jack kissed him back.

The gathered crowd erupted into shouts and cheers.

They parted. This time, Jack was not the only one blushing. Henry tried to hand him his old cravat, but Jack pushed it back.

“Keep it,” he said. “Think of it as a token.”

Henry curled his fingers around it, tight. He met Jack’s gaze and nodded.

 

* * *

 

A month passed before Jack returned to the plantation. Once again, he was nervous as he approached, although this time, he knew what to expect. He'd spent many nights thinking about this moment, wondering how it would go. Perhaps he and Henry would see each other again, and things would be different this time. A month was a long time to spend away from someone when you'd known them for only three nights.

He carried a bag of fine fabrics with him, which he'd packed as slim and compact as possible, hoping to disguise it. A few of the men saw him regardless, glancing up from their work in the fields as he approached. This time, he received smiles and waves. He realized that he preferred that to the dumbstruck awe.

Jack went straight to Henry's shop this time, without first greeting James.

He stood outside of Henry's door, fist poised to knock, and tried to think of what he was going to say.

Then the door opened on its own accord.

A man was on his way out with a shirt and a pair of breeches draped over his arm. He nearly collided with Jack, then stopped dead on his feet and stared, open-mouthed. But Jack wasn't paying attention to him. His eyes were focused solely on Henry, who was standing very still at the center of the room, pincushion and shears in hand, all of him brushed with soft light.

Jack stepped forward. He heard the door close behind him.

"You came back," Henry said. He set down the pincushion and shears.

Then Jack made a quick decision and closed the distance between them, letting the bag of fabric fall to the floor. He kissed Henry, and Henry's arms went around him, and it became an embrace.

“You smell like the ocean,” Henry whispered, his hands wandering over Jack's clothes.

Henry smelled like freshly washed linen. Jack inhaled the scent as he buried his face in Henry’s shoulder. Until this moment, he hadn't realized just how homesick he'd been for a place he'd barely known.

“My clothes are not in their most pristine condition at the moment,” Jack admitted, hoping he'd have a chance to wash them along with the rest while he was here.

“That’s fine. I have something better for you to wear.”

“Do you?” Jack asked, pulling away in excitement.

“Yes,” Henry smirked. He moved toward the wardrobe. “But I don’t want you to see them until they’ve been fitted.”

“How can you fit them without me seeing them?” Jack asked.

There was a glimmer in Henry’s eyes as he looked over at Jack. “You’re going to disrobe, and then you’re going to close your eyes,” he said.

Jack grinned. "Don't you want to see what I've brought for you, first?" he asked. He picked up the bag of fabric, then upturned it on Henry's bed, pulling out brilliantly dyed silks and brocades, and wondrous, soft linens.

Henry reached out to touch them, his expression reverent, and Jack watched him with a sense of pure, unbridled joy singing in his chest.

"These are beautiful," Henry said. He kissed Jack's cheek. "Thank you."

After Henry had seen his fill of the fabrics, Jack moved to take off his coat. He felt shy, all of a sudden, but also eager. "H—how much should I remove?" he asked. "For the fitting?"

"As much as you'd like," Henry said.

Jack stripped down to his small clothes, then, after the briefest hesitation, shed those, too. He felt Henry's eyes on him, and then he felt his skin heat up.

"I think, perhaps, the fitting can wait just a little longer," Jack said, his heart pounding.

"Yes. It wouldn't do for us to get distracted in the middle of things," Henry breathed.

Then he stepped forward and kissed Jack again, pausing only to shed his own clothes.

When they came together this time, it was quick and uncoordinated, full of a certain urgency. Jack's appetite for carnal pleasure had never been as high as Anne's, and he'd always been content to go for long stretches without fucking, but he only had a few days with Henry, and he wanted to make the most of them while he had the opportunity.

Some part of him had wondered, while he'd been away, if he would stop wanting this after he spent enough time back among his crew, back among the civilization at Nassau. But the desire had not gone away. If anything, it had _grown_.

He hadn't had a desire to go out and find a man to fuck at Nassau, but he had dreamed of coming back to the plantation, of kissing Henry underneath the clothesline, of touching his cock, of sleeping in his bed. And he'd realized that he wanted to experience more of it.

When the longing had transformed itself into pining, he'd known that it was time to return. So he had.

"You're a quick study," Henry said, afterward.

They were sprawled on Henry's bed. Henry's fingers were tracing a pattern on Jack's chest, following a scar, perhaps.

"It's how I've stayed alive," Jack said. The world of Charles Vane and Edward Teach had shown no mercy to slow learners.

Henry's finger paused on his chest. "Is this a new scar? I don't remember it," he asked.

Jack looked down at it. "Oh, that one?" He searched his memory. "Perhaps."

Once upon a time, he'd been able to catalogue all of his scars. He'd done so proudly, each one a notch on his skin proving that he was a real pirate, someone that mattered. At the same time, he'd worried that they'd make him ugly. Over time, he'd lost count of the scars, but only worried more about his appearance. He'd told himself that it didn't matter if they made him ugly, because Anne didn't mind them, and she was the only person who was regularly seeing him naked, but he'd failed to account for the fact that he regularly saw _himself_ naked, and he very much _did_ mind the map of scars that laced his body, marring his skin, inscribing the ugliness of piracy directly on his person.

Jack was pulled out of his thoughts by the sensation of Henry's lips pressing against his scar.

"Someday, I want you to tell me about all of them," Henry said, against his skin.

"I'm not certain that I can remember all of them," Jack said.

"That's a shame," Henry said. "You're wearing so many stories, but no one gets to appreciate them."

 

* * *

 

Eventually, they got up. Jack washed his body, scrubbing away the scent of the sea. Then, once again, he stood naked before Henry, waiting in anticipation for a different reason.

"Close your eyes," Henry said.

Jack closed them. He heard the whisper of fabric.

Then something light and soft brushed against his skin and slid down over him. Jack let out a breath.

Slowly, he reached out to touch it. He didn't have to look at it to know that Henry had dressed him in a shift. It fit him well; Henry's measurements had been accurate.

Next, he felt the first of the petticoats come down over the shift. Then after that, the stays. This set of stays was a better fit than Henry's had been, although they still needed a bit of adjustment.

The greatest temptation to look came when Jack felt the gown slide onto him. He twisted the fabric in his fingers, wondering what color it was, if it was patterned. The fabric was smooth and soft, and the quality was clearly very high.

Then Henry lifted a jacket over Jack's shoulder. Jack slid his arms into it in surprise, not expecting the jacket, with its more masculine cut, to go with the dress.

"Don't tell me how it feels yet," Henry said. "I want to finish fitting everything, first. I want it to be perfect."

As Henry slid a pin into a fold of fabric, Jack decided to ask a question he'd been wondering about for weeks. "Have you ever worn a dress outside of this room?"

"Yes," Henry said, easily. "Just the stays and petticoat, though. Didn't want to dirty either of my gowns while I was working."

"And the men here..." Jack trailed off.

"What I wear is of no concern to them," Henry said. "And even if it was, I lived in a prison for far too many years to submit to one of my own making now."

"I—I think you are braver than I am," Jack said.

"I doubt that," Henry said, softly.

 

* * *

 

After Henry had determined the alterations that would need to be made, he helped Jack undress, and then he carried the garments back to the wardrobe and shut the door before he allowed Jack to finally open his eyes again.

"I should probably let James know that I'm here," Jack said, reluctantly. He picked up his discarded smallclothes and started to dress himself again.

"Good. That'll give me time to get started on the alterations," Henry said.

Jack left the room, then made his way to the building that housed what he couldn't help but think of as the _captain's quarters_. There was a good chance that someone had already notified James that he was here, as the others would undoubtedly assume that Jack's main business here was with James. But when Jack entered the room, there was only one man sitting at the desk, and it was not James.

"Jack?" Thomas said, surprised. He set down his quill.

"Where's James?" Jack asked, looking around the room.

"He's settling a dispute between a few of the men," Thomas said. "What can we do for you?"

"Actually, I'm not here for James this time," Jack said, quickly.

"Then what are you here for?" Thomas asked.

Jack didn't answer for a long moment. "I came to see Henry," he admitted, flushing red.

"Oh," Thomas said, softly.

Jack sunk down into a chair in the room. He had spoken with James many times, but he didn’t know how to talk to Thomas.

A lengthy silence passed.

"None of us knew, about Flint," Jack said, when the quiet had gotten to his head. "Well, John Silver knew, of course, but none of the rest of us did. Flint never told us. Never so much as mentioned it. He never loved another man, after you."

Thomas regarded him, but said nothing.

"And I—it isn't like it's something I've never considered," Jack said. "After all, the two most important people in my life are women who love other women, but I've never—" He paused to take a breath. "I don't know what I'm trying to say."

Thomas stood up. He walked over to a tray that was balanced on a small table.

"Would you like some tea?" he offered, kindly.

Jack nodded.

Thomas grasped the teapot and poured a cup. Then he carried it over on its saucer and handed it to Jack.

“Despite what you might think, there are many things that James is ashamed of,” Thomas said, sitting back down. “And even among pirates, the ghost of England casts a long shadow. It’s easy to justify carrying out a crime that brings fame and riches. It’s far more difficult when your crime brings only infamy and a night of pleasure.”

Jack was staring down into his teacup. “Then how do _you_ avoid feeling shame?” he asked.

“Because I know that the love I feel for other men, the love I feel for James, is something good and right. And if civilization tries to shame me for it, then civilization is the one in the wrong.”

"He is a better man than I am," said a voice from the doorway.

Jack turned around, and his eyes followed James as he walked into the room.

"Thomas has always acted simply because he knows that it's the right thing to do," James said. "Even when it's hard. Even when it could get him killed. I've long admired that about him. It's why I fell in love with him."

It was, at that moment, that the dinner bell rang, echoing out over the plantation.

Jack set down his teacup. Then he stood up.

 

* * *

 

This time, several men came over and greeted Jack as he entered the dining hall. None of their interactions were flirtatious or awed; they simply seemed pleased to see him again.

Henry arrived almost late. He took a seat beside Jack, across from James and Thomas. Jack could feel the weight of a hundred stares on his back, then, as he sat next to Henry and ate his dinner.

Henry followed his nervous gaze, and grinned. "We made quite an impression, the last time we saw each other," he said. "The men asked me about you for weeks."

"And what did you tell them?" Jack asked, unsure of what he wanted Henry's answer to be.

"Nothing," Henry said. "Who am I to deprive them of their stories? I've heard at least a dozen versions of what happened between us while you were here. But the truth is mine, and mine alone."

Jack felt a pleasant warmth in his chest, hearing that.

 

* * *

 

Later, after dinner, Jack lounged on Henry's bed with his eyes closed, listening as Henry quietly worked on the alterations.

"You promised you'd tell me of your adventures," Henry said.

"Some of them aren't very exciting," Jack said.

“Tell me about them anyway,” Henry said. “Compared to this place, _anything_ is exciting.”

Jack thought about it for a long moment, going over the details in his head, organizing the events of the past month into a coherent narrative.

Then he sat up a little, and begun. “Well, it started with the sloop…”

 

* * *

 

Henry finished the alterations before Jack finished the stories.

This time, the jacket and the stays and the gown fit Jack as if they belonged on him.

Henry led him over to the mirror. “Open your eyes,” he whispered.

Jack opened them.

He stared at a vision of himself that he had never seen before. The gown was green and gold, the colors light, but vibrant.

“What do you think?” Henry asked, his eyes sparkling with pride.

“It’s beautiful,” Jack breathed. He reached down and clutched a handful of the skirts in his hand, watching his reflection mirror the action. It didn’t feel real. He felt as though he stood before an apparition that wore his face.

The stays and the petticoats changed his silhouette. Moulded his body into a different form. It entranced him.

“You made all of this in under a month?” Jack said, dumbfounded. He took in all of the pieces of the dress, and the jacket, with its coordinating colors, all made with such a degree of care and skill.

“I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about you,” Henry admitted. “Imagining what you’d say when you saw what I’d made, what you’d look like wearing it—” he smirked “—what you’d look like taking it off.”

“Was it worth it?” Jack asked, finally moving his eyes away from own reflection to meet Henry’s in the mirror.

“Yes. Absolutely.”

Jack hesitated. “Even if I never wear the dress outside of this room?”

“As long as it makes you happy,” Henry said.

“It does,” Jack said. “I am.”

He turned, and Henry pulled him into his arms, kissing his forehead. It wasn’t until that moment that Jack realized he was crying.

Then, for a long time, he laid his head on Henry’s shoulder and shook with quiet sobs.

When his eyes finally ran dry, he pulled away. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Your clothes—”

“Better mine than yours,” Henry said. He reached out and smoothed a finger over Jack’s cheek, catching a lingering tear.

Then he moved to shed his shirt and his breeches. He slipped into his chemise.

“Besides, I might as well take advantage of having a second set of hands around to assist with my stays,” he said, turning toward Jack.

When Jack reached for the lacing, his hands were clumsy at first, fumbling. But Henry was patient with him, offering guidance and encouragement.

Then Henry was standing before him, garbed in that blue dress, and Jack was staring at him, open-mouthed.

“Like what you see?” Henry asked, the light in his brown eyes dancing.

“I don’t think there exists a single garment that wouldn’t become you,” Jack said, his eyes roving over him.

“None of _my_ garments, certainly,” Henry scoffed. “I don’t make ugly clothes.”

“I wish more men wanted to wear dresses,” Jack lamented. “Men’s clothing is just so _dull_ in comparison with women’s.”

“There are probably more that wish it than you think.”

Henry undid the ribbon in his hair. He combed through the strands, freeing them of tangles, then redid his hair in a more feminine style.

Jack sat down on the bed, and Henry sat next to him.

“I believe you were in the middle of telling me about how you stopped a mutiny,” Henry said.

Jack smiled. He eased back into the story.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, while Jack assisted Henry with the washing, he asked, “Would you be happier, had you been born a woman?”

“No,” Henry said. “I don’t think I would.” He wore his stays and petticoat, crouching beside the water with a comfortable ease.

Jack knelt in borrowed clothes as he washed his own shirt and breeches, scrubbing them free of any lingering traces of the sea. Right now, in this moment, he looked indistinguishable from any of the other men at this place.

“I’d probably be some rich merchant’s wife, wasting away in England, dressing in breeches in secret when I thought I could get away with it,” Henry continued. “Dissatisfied, but never knowing the nature of my dissatisfaction.”

Jack paused in his work, glancing over at Henry.

“I think whatever I am, I am bound to fall somewhere in between, never fully satisfied with the confines of either,” Henry said, wringing out the cloth.

“But are you happy here?” Jack asked, softly.

The wind toyed with a lock of Henry’s hair, attempting to wrest it free of the ribbon.

“Yes,” Henry said. “Here, I am what I am.”

 

* * *

 

Time passed. Jack came back, for a few more nights, and then he left. Like the tides, washing up to kiss the shore, then slinking back into the ocean.

When he was away, he’d find himself longing for the quiet life of the plantation. But when he was there, he’d feel that constant itch just under his skin, and he’d dream of sleeping on fine sheets, and the sound of his name being whispered on the streets of England.

"You want a legacy, your name in the history books, yet you come to me," Henry murmured, his mouth moving to Jack’s neck. "History has no place for me. All of us—James, Thomas, everyone—we're the ones history didn't want. It tried to get rid of us, and we said: _So be it_. We'll live out our lives in the darkness."

The shape of him was a shadow cut out of the night, his body warm against Jack's. Jack tried to speak, but he had no answer. He couldn't explain what always drew him back, why he'd come here, again and again, to let the darkness swallow him up.

 _You exoticize that place_ , Max had told him, once, when he had sat with her and Anne for dinner one evening, and Max had seen the yearning on his face and knew its source straightaway. _You exoticize each other_ , she'd added.

Jack hadn't denied it. He didn't think Henry would deny it, either. They knew what they were to each other. It had been plain since the beginning. Jack had lied to many people in his life, but he'd never lied to Anne, and he'd never lied to Henry.

He lied to all of his men by omission, though, sneaking off to Savannah with nary an explanation to the rest of his crew.

Someday, he'd need to reckon with it, this shadow self of his that slipped through the cracks of Calico Jack and settled against the bare skin of a nameless tailor in a nameless plantation in a nameless country.

But not today.

 

* * *

 

“They’ve started to talk,” Jack said, leaning back against the wall beside Henry's bed. “I’ve come here often enough that people are saying I’ve got a woman holed up in Savannah.”

Henry chuckled. “I could be your wife,” he said. “Or your husband, if you’d prefer."

“If you could pick any name for people to call you, what would it be?” Jack asked.

“That’s how pirates do it, isn’t it?” Henry asked. “You choose a name for yourself, and leave your other self behind. Like James did, when he was Flint.”

“ _Some_ pirates, yes,” Jack said. “Others like to keep our names.”

“It’s a difficult decision, picking a new name for yourself,” Henry said. “Ask me again next time, and perhaps I’ll have an answer.

 

* * *

 

“Ms. Henrietta Fenn,” Henry said. “That’s my pirate name.”

The two of them were walking past the fields. It was a warm day, almost unpleasantly so, but after the brisk cold of the ocean, Jack didn't mind the dense weight of the heat in the air.

“If you want me to be named, you can let it slip, in a moment of weakness,” Henry continued. “Then the world will know Ms. Fenn as the mystery woman who gave Jack Rackham what Anne Bonny couldn’t.”

Jack frowned at him. He stopped walking. “Don’t say it like that,” he said. “What you and I have… it’s different from her and I. It’s not more, it’s not lesser, it’s just _different_. You aren’t a—a _replacement_ Anne, just as Max isn’t a replacement _me_.”

"I know. I'm sorry," Henry said. "I meant no disrespect toward Anne. I know how much you love her." He paused, then added, "And I also know that even if we never lay together again, if you decided you'd satiated your curiosity and no longer wished to share my bed during your visits, I wouldn't love you any less for it."

"You're more than just a passing curiosity to me, you know," Jack said. "Even if you never made me another garment again, I'd still come back."

Overhead, the clouds were drifting briskly across the sky, spurred on by the wind, which rustled through the fields in waves.

Henry turned and held out his hand. Jack reached forward and took it, letting Henry lead him down the path. Jack knew where all of the paths led, now. He'd been here enough times that he'd tread them all.

 

* * *

 

Jack often conversed with James and Thomas during his visits. Some months, he'd hardly spend time with anyone other than Henry, but he usually spoke with James at least once. He never mentioned the new Nassau. Instead, he would speak of Henry, or inquire after the plantation, and occasionally, he and James would speak of their shared past, although the name of Captain Flint was uttered less and less, nowadays.

This time, things went a little differently.

As the three of them sat in James and Thomas's office, Thomas turned and regarded Jack. “Be careful with him,” he said.

“With who?” Jack asked. “Henry?”

“The only thing that matches his love for you is his love for the _story_ of you.” Thomas sighed. “I worry that someday, he’ll get so swept up in it that he’ll leave this place to go become part of your world, and then the two of you will lose each other.”

Jack scoffed. “Why would he leave all of this—” he gestured around them, “—for me? He’s happy here. Hell, _I’m_ happy here.”

“Because every time you come here, you show him that piracy is rich clothing and dashing young men,” James said.

Jack opened his mouth to deny it, but James stopped him with a look.

“I know that you’ve brought him fabrics from your conquests,” James said. “The only reason I’ve allowed it to happen is because he doesn’t wear them himself. He doesn’t flaunt wealth here, where individual wealth is not supposed to exist.”

Jack felt a rush of cold go through him. _Flint knows,_ he thought. _Of course he does. How could I ever have thought—_

James took a sip of tea, then continued. “We cannot allow the spoils of piracy to fund our operations here. Either we survive on our own merits and prove that it can be done, or we fail to sustain ourselves, and Oglethorpe loses the gamble he made on us, and everything we have built here is for nought. But the moment we become the beneficiary of pirates, we paint targets on our backs.”

“Are you telling me to stay away, then?” Jack asked. The thought of being barred from this place struck him like a direct wound to his chest.

“No, not at all,” Thomas said quickly. “Just… be careful. For Henry’s sake, if nothing else.”

Jack glanced up, meeting his eyes. He looked from Thomas to James. Then he nodded. He wasn't going to stop bringing fabrics, but he understood the danger of it, was aware of the very fine line that he and Henry walked, suspended between two very different worlds. They had struck a precarious balance. All they each could do was trust the other to maintain it.

 

* * *

 

One month, Jack visited the plantation only to discover that James and Thomas already had another visitor.

Madi looked different than the last time Jack had seen her. She still had that same regal bearing, that same force of will, but there was something else to her, too.

She sat across the table from James, and it was like an ocean spanned the distance between them.

Jack watched the two of them talk from three tables away, seated beside Henry. They were not the only ones watching from afar. For once, Jack’s presence at the plantation was all but ignored in favor of a more intriguing visitor.

He wondered what it would be like, to bare all of his secrets to every man in this room as James had done when he’d arrived here.

Telling that story, that beautiful, ugly story, had placed James in a position of both incredible power and incredible vulnerability. It had won him a room full of steadfast allies, but all of them knew the exact nature of the pain in his heart right now, the regret and the guilt and the longing for justice that he’d put aside in favor of peace.

Knowing what he did now, Jack wondered if, had he the chance to go back and do it differently, would he have played a different role in Flint’s defeat than he did?

Or would he have done it all exactly the same, to the letter, so that he could be where he was right now, sitting beside Henry, reaping the benefits of that defeat?

“Whatever’s in your head right now, you’re overthinking it,” Henry said, staring at him with amusement.

“I’m just glad that there are parts of Jack Rackham that are not in the story of Jack Rackham,” Jack said.

“Well, I’m just glad that I’ve had the unique opportunity to experience both,” Henry said. He reached out and covered Jack’s hand with his own, squeezing it gently.

When Madi left, she turned toward James, then threw her arms around him. He pressed a kiss to her forehead and embraced her, clutching her tight, and for a moment, it felt like a fractured thing had been made whole again.

Then Madi was gone, headed back to the sea, and James stood out in the fields as the sun bore down on him, as still as a becalmed mast, and Jack wondered if he wept.


End file.
